


Respect. Devotion.

by Loki_Likey_Thor_Odinson



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Anatoly didn't get beheaded, Canonical Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 20:21:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3950404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loki_Likey_Thor_Odinson/pseuds/Loki_Likey_Thor_Odinson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wesley and Vladimir were thrown together in a twist of fate... And then fate played its cruel game.</p><p><em>Thank you to Aid0ink and CaptainClovey for betaing</em> <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	Respect. Devotion.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CaptainClovey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainClovey/gifts).



Wesley gripped the shirt in his hand, bringing it to his nose. The soft smell of vodka and mint, mixed with cigarette smoke was comforting, but at the same time, it brought tears to the man’s eyes. The past few days had been hard, of course they had, but at the same time, they were the easiest Wesley had ever experienced.  
  
Fisk had been killed by the Mask. It was quick – he had been told; the knife had cut the aortic vein and Fisk had bled out in seconds. Wesley hadn’t cared, really. He’d shed a tear and attended the funeral, but so had the rest of the group. Gao and Nobu to one side, whilst Vladimir and his brother on the other. Leland was a no show, but that was to be expected for a man with flight issues.  
  
It hadn’t been long after, merely days, that Vladimir had come to Wesley’s apartment –  
  
Wesley had to take a breath.  
  
_Vladimir, who was currently sitting on the plane back to Moscow with his brother’s body._  
_Vladimir, who had stayed many nights and looked after Wesley when he most needed it._  
_Vladimir, who had treated him with the respect Fisk never had, but Wesley deserved._  
  
Wesley closed his eyes, the taste of Vladimir’s lips on his own lingering, the feeling of his rough, calloused hands slipping under his shirt, the way his soft hair curled under Wesley’s fingers...  
  
Everything had been going perfectly; simple and modest. It was almost like the motto of their relationship. Nothing big ever really happened; they curled up on the sofa with a pizza or Chinese most nights.  
  
And then, one night, Vladimir’s phone had rung and Wesley knew something was wrong just by the way Vladimir’s jaw tensed. How his face went to stone. How his eyes screamed of pain. Anatoly had been taken to hospital, gunshot wound to the head. Wesley had driven Vladimir, watching how his fists kept clenching and unclenching, listening to the soft cracking of the man’s knuckles.  
  
He had stayed with Vladimir in the waiting room, had held his hand whilst the Russian stared at the floor, rocking ever so slightly back and forth. He had been there when Vladimir had fallen asleep, tugging the man gently to lay his head in his lap. He had stroked through Vladimir’s hair, helping him through the nightmares.  
  
He wasn’t allowed to go with him, through to the room with the doctor to have a talk. But he knew exactly what had happened when he heard soft sobs. He had been at the door, inside in seconds, ignoring the doctor telling him he couldn’t be there. His arms had wrapped around Vladimir as the man clung to him, and he had rocked him to and fro.  
  
Wesley hadn’t been there when Vladimir had said goodbye to Anatoly. He hadn’t needed to be there to know that Vladimir needed to be alone and would more than likely need to get drunk to deal with the grief later on. He had made a meal, nothing exciting, and had waited. He had waited for hours until a drunken Vladimir had stumbled his way home, breaking into sobs the moment he sat down.  
  
Wesley had stuck with Vladimir throughout everything. He gently cleaned Vladimir’s forehead every time his lover suffered a nightmare, and was there when he woke up, screaming for his brother. He was there when Vladimir sat there, staring at the wall for hours on end.  
  
He was there where Vladimir went to choose a coffin. He was there to hold his hand and support him throughout the pain, throughout the hard decisions of a marble or a stone tombstone. He’d been there through the closed casket speech, through the harsh reality of everything as Vladimir looked through pictures of his brother.  
  
Wesley had been there through the time Vladimir needed him the most, before Vladimir had surprised him.  
  
He had come out the bedroom, bulging gym bag on his back. Had merely said he was going to Moscow with his brother, to be with his family from now on – that they had to break up.  
  
Wesley had offered to drive him to the airport, but Vladimir had left before answering. Wesley watched him get into a taxi from the window and had wandered into the too empty bedroom once it had disappeared from view.  
  
Wesley stared out that same window again as he tugged Vladimir’s shirt on. Maybe one day, Vladimir would come back. Maybe one day, work would allow them to collide once more.  
  
But the one thing Wesley knew... It wouldn’t be the end of them.


End file.
